Final Fantasy XII: In the wings
by Mischief Mage
Summary: A noble born Archadian, the princess of Dalmasca, the war conference in Archades, a bloody assasination, a political conspiracy; it could have happened, right? Set before the events of XII. BalthierxAshe
1. AN, Introduction, Prologue, Chap 1

**A/N**

Hello and welcome to the first page of my first ever Final Fantasy XII fanfic. If you're reading this then that means I have already finished the writing of it and will be updating it at least once a fortnight. In it's entirety it spans three 'Acts' much like a play.

As to the actual story, there are a number of things you will need to know. Aside from the prologue, it is set before the events of the game; two years before in fact. It is pretty much one long 'what if?' question; the query being 'What would have happened if Balthier and Ashe had met before the game? He was son of a nobleman, she was a princess, it could have happened.' The story that follows contains my own imaginings that fill the holes that the plot of FFXII left behind however I've written it in such a way that, while the events of FFXII would not change, the interactions between certain characters would. The long and short of it is; this is almost an AU fanfic. It is placed in a familiar time and place but it deals with events that are arguably not in the same line of reality as the game.

This is quite a short first chapter but the second will be along soon enough.

**FINAL FANTASY XII: WAITING IN THE WINGS**

The newest production from Mischief Mage Enterprises.

Main Characters:

**Ffamran Mid Bunansa **– A devilishly handsome young Archadian aristocrat with a fondness for flying machines.

**Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca** – The stout-hearted princess of Dalmasca recently arranged to marry by her father.

Dignitaries and aristocrats:

**Riccard, Agrias, Vayne and Larsa Solidor **– Sons of Gramis Solidor, Emperor of Archadia.

**Barrenthus and Mustadio Bunansa **– Ffamran's older brothers.

**Cidolfus Demen Bunansa **– Emotionally vacant father to Ffamran.

**Al-Cid Margrace **– The charismatic son of the House of Margrace of Rozarria; a firm friend of Ffamran's.

**Rasler Heios Nabradia **– The gentle prince of Nabradia that is betrothed to Ashelia.

Others:

**Captain Vossler Azelas** – A Captain of the Knights of the Order of Dalmasca. Keeps a watchful eye over the princess.

**Captain Basch fon Ronsenberg** – A stern Captain of the Knights of the Order of Dalmasca. Is wary of Ffamran.

**Ba'Gamnan **– A cruel and bloodthirsty servant of the House of Solidor; has it in for Ffamran.

**Act I:**

'My heart is like and open highway.

Like Frankie said, I did it my way.

I just want to live while I'm alive

It's my life.'

-Bon Jovi

**Prologue  
**

Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca gritted her teeth as she slid the large wooden crate onto the floor from the bottom shelf of Cid Bunansa's office in Draklor Laboratories. Vayne was defeated, Dalmasca was safe and Archades was in the hands of men led by Young Larsa. All that remained now was to clear away the old rot and make way for a new age of peace. Ashe had decided, against advice, to deal with Draklor Laboratories herself.

Basch was accompanying Larsa to Rozarria for peace discussions and the signing of various treaties while Vaan and Penelo were assisting Marquis Ondore. It stung somewhere inside to list off her friends; it made her more aware of the ones missing.

The hole left by one friend in particular had prompted her to visit Draklor again. Apparently Cid spent a large proportion of his life in his office; there was a four poster bed in the corner and the remains of unwashed dinner dishes.

Methodically, she had looked through all the drawers, boxes and cupboards, searching for traces of Balthier the Sky Pirate as though finding evidence of his existence would bring her closer to him.

She wedged open the box before her using a large slab of nethicite from Cid's desk. Inside, within that small box, she found the only testimony in all of Draklor that Cid had had three sons. School reports, bills and, to Ashe's disgust, the contract made out to Ba'gammnan through the Judges to bring down Balthier after he'd fled Archades.

There was nothing _about_ Cid's sons. Everything was about the costs of repair and upkeep.

Down at the bottom, creased, was the only indication that Cid had ever had a family: a photo of him and his three sons standing around. The photo still had most of its colour; it hadn't seen enough light to fade. She surveyed their faces.

There he was.

It was unmistakably Balthier. But the Balthier in the picture was younger with fewer cares, no bags under his eyes and with a light naiveté about in his expression that Ashe hadn't seen in the Balthier she knew. On the back of the photo the sons names were listed along with the date, his at the bottom.

Ffamran Bunansa.

The photo had been taken at the Ivalice Peace Conference two years ago; mere days before Balthier had run away and taken on that name. He had been younger then; less world weary and more boyish.

She knew all this for a reason. It was for that same reason that she missed Balthier more than the others knew.

She'd been there when it had all happened.

**Chapter 1: Not so humble beginnings**

**Archades, two years prior  
**

_Politics._

Ffamran Bunansa slipped down in his chair as he sighed. The stretch hover car and well-upholstered seats had done nothing to lighten his mood. Another day in Archades, another stupid war conference to be dragged along to with his emotionally vacant father and two older brothers.

Or maybe it was a peace conference. It didn't really matter. They both involved a lot of aging old farts saying things they didn't really mean.

He looked out over the city.

Archades – the city that never tires of gossip and intrigue. A kicked shin in some bar down one end of town was a brutal murder worthy of vengeance by the time it got to the other end. If secrets were gold then gossips and celebrities were millionaires, selling their stories and their dignity for what they could. And just like gold, no one had any hope of holding onto a secret for very long, unless if they were dead.

That was the one advantage of his position, Ffamran mused: he was held high enough by his father's position as chief of secret nethicite investigations to have a small window through which he could observe the lives and scandals of the rich and famous without being a figure of any interest himself.

But then again that wasn't entirely true. He stole a glance at his father who was restlessly twisting at a nethicite ring on his finger, heedless of anything going on about him. If his father became any more consumed by his thirst for nethicite, Ffamran and his brothers would very quickly find their tales of neglect and anguish attaining a monetary value that would amount to a small town.

Ffamran pushed the thought from his mind, settling once more on the tedious situation before him. An entire afternoon at the Collective Embassies building smiling charmingly at high-to-do humes, bangaas and seeqs. It wasn't even the actual conference; that would take place tomorrow. It was just a chance for various delegations to size each other up and pinpoint people more likely to swallow a bluff, bribe or threat.

Ffamran had little respect for diplomats. He didn't see why they got paid so much for lying, cheating and swindling people out their money; something he could do in his sleep.

He tsked distastefully as he surveyed the city with all its nooks, crannies and a poor ratio of nannies to crooks. He had known, always known that someday he would escape this place.

* * *

Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca reluctantly drew back from the large window.

'Father?' she asked slowly, turning to look at the elderly man who was leafing through a stack of papers on the king-sized bed.

'Yes, Ashe?'

'Is it actually legal to build a city this large?'

The king of Dalmasca smiled.

'I doubt that there's a law on how powerful one nation is allowed to be.'

Ashe returned her gaze to the bustle down in the streets below. She, her father, Captain Basch fon Ronsenberg and the rest of the Dalmascan delegation were lodging at the Collective Embassies building of Archades for the duration of the Peace conference.

'Why are we here again?'

'Well the relationship between Archades and Rozarria are more strained than usual at the moment and it's looking as though neighbouring nations may be drawn into the crossfire. So this peace conference is designed to try and peacefully resolve the issues without resorting to warfare.'

'No I mean why are _we_ here? The Dalmascan delegation. They don't listen to anything we say and even if they did they wouldn't care.'

'Well, my dear,' her father said slowly, walking over to her and laying a hand on her shoulder, 'we all have a duty to fulfil, as you will soon have to learn.'

Ashe made an irritated noise in the back of her throat.

'I don't see any reason why I should marry him.'

'That may be so, my dear, but I'm afraid that the state can.'

* * *

Ffamran sniffed disdainfully as he looked about the room. It was about eight o'clock at night and the great hall of the Collective Embassies building was packed full with more pot-bellied diplomats than you could poke a sharp stick at. It seemed that every nation in Ivalice had sent representatives, complete with flamboyant costumes and hats.

While Ffamran was not the son of a diplomat or a ruler, having a father with strong political ties to House Solidor ensured that he and the rest of his wretched family got VIP tickets to every international booze-up.

Bored out of his wits, Ffamran decided to play his favourite game: 'Name that fop.'

First off, distinguish the country bumpkins from the city rats. That was easy enough, the representatives from Giza, Dalmasca, Nalbina and every other hole in between were the ones gaping at their own gilt cutlery.

There was Marquis Halim Ondore IV in the corner, looking a little unaccustomed to not being on a floating island several hundred feet in the air. A short distance away was Judge Reddas of Nabradia, apparently has colour blind as ever. Today his colour scheme seemed to be 'Passionfruit.' In deep conversation with Reddas was the Young Prince Rasler Heios Nabradia. Close to him, all of House Solidor: Riccard, Agrias, Vayne, Little Larsa and their elderly father, Emperor Gramis. Hopefully it was a peace conference as it looked like one more major war might just finish him off. Each holding one of Larsa's hands was Judge Drace and Judge Gabranth, formerly Noah fon Ronsenberg.

Ffamran almost laughed as he saw the figure beside the blonde guardian. Captain Basch fon Ronsenberg, identical in nearly every possible way was standing shoulder to shoulder with his twin, fiercely ignoring him. He wondered whether they knew that they had identical 'cold shoulder' stances.

Naturally the captain was accompanying the King of Dalmasca, Raminas who had with him a girl that Ffamran had never seen before. He cocked his head to one side to take in the sight. Simple white dress, nice bone structure, regal posture, light figure, no jewellery, _very_ pretty.

Ffamran made a movement with his hand and was soon joined by his Rozarrian friend, Al-Cid Margrace, son of the ruling family of Rozarria who flicked his thick black locks as he removed his sunglasses. He was older than Ffamran but in terms of maturity, they were almost on the same level.

'Ah Ffamran, how nice of you to notice me. I hadn't thought that your position granted you the right for disdain of your superiors' he said in a mock-hurt voice.

Ffamran waived the comment away.

'Al, you're more familiar with political mugs than I am. Who's that girl over there with the Dalmascan delegation?'

Al-Cid scrutinized the girl.

'If I'm not mistaken (which I'm certain I'm not,) that would be Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca. Heir to the Dalmascan throne should her father pop his clogs.'

'Such tact.'

'No less than you at the best of times. So, does that little miss light up your glossair rings? Care to take her for a drive?'

Ffamran watched her for a bit. He had graduated school several years ago with flying colours, a love of flying machines and a tank full of experience with women. He was a hot-blooded twenty year old male who knew that he could melt the chilliest ice queen to a steaming puddle. It wasn't a matter of if he could get her so much as a case of if he wanted her.

'Might be a bit of fun.' He said at length. 'Not much else to do.'

* * *

These gatherings of the influential always scared Ashe a bit. It worried her the way large porous men would strut about in large cloaks as much younger, handsomer women clung dumbly to their arms. It was amongst the wealthiest that Ashe saw the greatest degradation of female integrity.

It made her feel sick thinking about her own impending arranged marriage. The man's name was Rasler. In himself he was nothing particularly reprehensible or worthy of censure but he represented a suppression of her own strength and abilities through marriage.

Ashe was shaken from her thoughts by a silky voice near her ear.

'Evening, milady.'

She spun about to see a handsome young man. Judging by the spotless pale yellow shirt; well-tailored, navy blue coat; stylistically loose square navy tie, tight black pants, sleek agate rings and pierced ears he was an Archadian. Yes indeed, from the top of his golden brown head to the tips of his knee high Wild Saurian hide boots the boy reeked of juvenile aristocrat.

'May I help you?' she asked archly.

'Well yes I believe you can,' the tall, dark and handsome youth said. The image was tarnished somewhat by the fact that he was clearly aware that he was tall, dark and handsome. 'I was just wondering what a charming blossom like you was doing in a room full of gnarled old oaks.'

Ashe's eyes narrowed.

'Did you think that one up yourself?'

'Now that's a bit harsh don't you think? I was just about to offer you a drink.'

'My mistake, I was just about to decline it.'

'Well could I at least know such a beauty's name?'

Ashe paused.

'I am Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca. My friends and family call me 'Ashe.' _You_ may call me 'unimpressed.''

'An elegant name for an elegant princess' said the boy, failing to hide his sarcasm. 'My name is-'

'Of no interest to me.'

'I hardly think you're representing your country appropriately.'

'I could say the same of you.'

'So what should I do to please you, princess?' the man asked, exasperated.

'Well,' Ashe began slowly, 'In your native street Archadian, I think the term is "_Bugger off._"'

And with that, she stalked away, fuming in her triumph in a correct first impression; Archades really was a stuck city full of people stuck up so far they were in danger of floating out of the stratosphere.


	2. Things that go 'bump' in the night

* * *

**Chapter II: Things that go 'bump' in the night.**

Al-Cid could hardly contain his laughter.

'Oh my,' he cried out in his heavy Rozarrian accent, 'It appears dear Ffamran is losing his touch.'

'Shaddup,' Ffamran muttered sulkily from the depths of a glass of Nabradian wine.

'That was the single most hilarious thing I've seen since your pet chocobo ate your favourite cufflinks at the Archades-Rozarria conference three years ago.'

'They had cost me a years worth of gossip. Pure High Arcanum!'

'You just keep believing that.'

There was silence for a moment as the Rozarrian continued to clutch his sides and gasp for breath at his friend's expense.

At length, Ffamran surfaced from his wine and asked, grimacing,

'Al, was she blind?'

'I'm afraid not my friend. It seems that she just didn't find you as gorgeous as you do.'

'Hmmmm.' Ffamran looked dejectedly at his reflection in the rosy red contents of his glass.

'C'mon Ffamran, buck up. Depression doesn't suit your complexion.'

Receiving no reply, Al-Cid strode over to his friend, stooping so as to seize Ffamran by his collar.

'Let's go grab something to eat from the kitchens.'

* * *

Ashe took a vindictive bite out of the savoury muffin in her hand.

_That jerk. That arrogant, stuck-up _pig_._

Who did he think he was? Coming on to her like that, it made her so angry. It didn't help that she had no one to talk with to alleviate her frustration. She had watched him go and talk to a young Rozarrian in the corner and then disappear out into the corridor to go and do Gods know what; probably chat up some maids.

'Lady Ashe?' a gruff voice asked.

She turned to see a dark haired man looking down at her with a concerned expression. She recognised him: Agrias Solidor, second son of Gramis Solidor.

'Are you troubled?' he asked.

'Oh no, my lord. I'm simply,' she was too irritated to mince her words, 'I was musing at the failings of men. No offence meant.' She added hurriedly, looking up. He seemed almost amused.

'Go on.'

So Ashe told him all about the young Archadian. He looked both amused and angry that she had been subjected to such crude flirtation.

He was silent as she finished her account. The man must have seen her looking wistfully out the window as he tapped her shoulder and said that there would be no harm in her leaving the party early so long as she remained in the building and out of trouble.

Needing little persuasion, she thanked him gratefully and began to make her way to the large double doors that lead out into the corridor.

Just as she reached the door, Ashe's attention was drawn to a well dressed figure in the corner, away from the crowd. It was an older man in a pair of spectacles and white gloves. He seemed to be talking to something over his shoulder that she couldn't see. His words were rushed and toned with a dry humour.

'Those fools,' he whispered, with a smile, not noticing her, 'If only they knew of what has been prescribed for them.'

At length the man felt Ashe's gaze and looked over. He bowed his head to her. She wrenched her gaze away and pulled herself through the doors and into the cool corridor.

_Odd.._. She though as she wandered through the high roofed corridors carpeted in rich red. The lights of the city blocked out the stars through the window. Although curious to ponder what the man could possibly have meant, more than ever she just wanted to go home so that she could at least dread her wedding day in a familiar environment.

Just then, there was a muffled crash from down the corridor followed by what sounded like a groan. Ashe froze, mind wiped clear. This was Archades. Where there were just as many deceitful thugs within its grand skyscrapers as there were in its alleys.

She was at least five minutes away from the great hall. It wouldn't hurt to take a peek and then get help depending on what the problem was and if absolutely necessary, she had been pressed by the Captains of the Guard to carry with her a small knife when possible. Leaving it in her ankle boots undeclared seemed all the more worth it now.

* * *

'Hard to get.' Ffamran explained, shaking his apple at Al-Cid who was sitting cross legged on a box on the floor of the kitchens. 'I tell you, she was playing hard to get.'

'And I think your _mind_ is the one playing games with you.' Al-Cid said in a tired voice, taking a bite from the fat sandwich he was holding in his hand, washing it down with a swig of pomegranate juice.

'Well why else would she reject me?'

'Because you came across as an arrogant arse?'

Ffamran frowned, thinking hard.

'Look Ffamran,' Al-Cid began, treading lightly. Ffamran was a good friend despite them only seeing each other when their countries were at war or thinking about going to war. Of course, that meant that they saw each other every third month. The Archadian was sensible and straight-forward about everything except relationships. When it came to girls he was a commitment phobic monkey with his head in his pants. 'Girls need more than good looks to keep them happy. And maybe it's because she comes from a small country. She's probably not used to guys getting straight to the oh so pointy point. She might need some time to get used to you.'

Ffamran looked him straight in the eye.

'You're not exactly my kind of agony aunt,' he said in a stern voice.

The two of them burst into laughter. After a few more apples and at least another bottle of juice they got up and exited out into the corridor. Al-Cid was to return to the party to meet the Marquis Ondore.

'So what will you do?' he said, stretching is neck.

'Might head out into town.'

'Won't your father mind?'

'Hah. If I were brutally murdered my father wouldn't notice I was missing until he was sent the autopsy a week later.'

The Rozarrian shrugged, 'Suit yourself. I'll see you tomorrow at the conference.' He walked off, hands in his pockets.

Ffamran sighed and stretched his arms up, groaning. The embarrassment with Lady Ashelia still stung but it was nothing a night on the town in some faceless club wouldn't numb. So he began to dawdle down the corridor along to where the elevator was. He jumped as he heard a crash and a groan from directly above. Not pausing, he instead ran to the stairs and rushed up, two steps at a time. Judging where the sound must have come from by his position when he heard it on the floor below, he ran towards one of the meeting rooms of the Bhujerban embassy.

Girls pushed clear out of his mind, he reached for his pistol, a gift he had bought for himself after he'd weaselled some gil out of his father. Ffamran had told him that his birthday had been a week ago. Of course, he pulled that trick three times a year and it was testimony to his father's inattention that he fell for it every time.

* * *

It didn't take Ashe long to find the room where she had heard the crash. Silently, she put her ear to the door. There were groans and muffled shouts coming through the polished wood. At length, the shouting stopped. Well aware that this was probably a job for Captain Basch or Azelas, she opened the door silently, other hand clasping what would best be called a sharpened butter knife.

Peeking around the door, she felt her stomach drop out from inside her as she saw the eldest son of the house of Solidor lying splayed out on the floor, blood oozing from multiple wounds. His eyes were milky white and his mouth gasping like a fish out of water.

Looking up, Ashe saw he who must have been the murderer flit out a side door that led to the corridor on the other side. Feet too full of lead to follow, instead she fell to her knees beside the dying man. She put a finger to his neck and through the film of red found a pulse. Instinctively, she found the main wound on his chest and placed both hands over it, trying to stop the flow of life.

As she pressed down on his chest, the man turned his lifeless eyes towards her and she thought he tried to mouth something. Breath beginning to shorten as shock set in, Ashe shook her head desperately to indicate that she didn't understand. He tried again several times, palms tightening and loosening alternately with desperation and pain. He would press his bottom teeth to his upper lip and make a sort of hissing sound before opening his mouth to speak the rest of the word, coming out as a long, repeating 'f.'

But she couldn't make it out. Then somewhere behind his eyes, Ashe saw something disappear and while the blood continued to find rivers out from behind her fingers, she knew he was gone.

So light-headed was Ashe that she didn't really notice when the door behind her crashed open and a pair of strong arms lifted her up, away from the body. Whoever it was frog-marched her down the corridor and into the nearest bedroom where they roughly shoved her head in a sink of cold water in the en suite bathroom.


	3. Wait, Scotch that

* * *

**CHAPTER III: Wait, Scotch that**

Ffamran was still having difficulty containing his shock. He had burst into the Bhujerban meeting room to find Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca crouched over the bleeding body of Ricard Solidor; dress now more red than white. He knew instinctively that there was no way she could have killed him although he knew from experience that she could seriously wound a man's ego. So he'd done the only thing he could think of at the time: get her out of that room before she a) passed out or b) was found by someone with greater esteem for her assassination abilities.

Pushing her head in the basin full of cold water had woken her up nicely. She'd grabbed him by the ear and pulled until he'd let her up. She gasped and spluttered, flicking hair out of her face.

'What was that for?'

He ignored her question.

'What happened in there? Did you see who killed Ricard Solidor?'

She coughed again and looked up into his face. He could tell that she had finally returned to reality by the look of loathing spreading across her face.

'You! What do you want?' She spat, subconciously clinging to the only thing that made sense at the moment; general dislike.

'I _want_ you to tell me whether or not you saw who killed that man!'

'I saw him but I didn't see who he was'

'Great,' Ffamran said, getting up, 'Just _great._'

'What?' the princess asked roughly. She sat down on the side of the bath, heedless of the red stains she was trailing along the gleaming white tiles.

'Well, the heir to Archades has been murdered on the eve of the Peace Conference conceived to avoid such bloodshed. I doubt Old Man Solidor will be in quite such an appeaseable mood with his son butchered within his own nation. What else, oh that's right, because we do not know who the killer is and because there has been no open resentment of ­­­­­Riccard, you and I and prime suspects.'

'Why would anyone think we killed him?' Ashe asked incredulously.

'Well there were two of us. I have a gun while you have an illegally concealed knife; you have more blood on you than he has in him and best of all, we weren't supposed to be wandering the now bloody corridor.'

Ashe surveyed herself with a look of dumb astonishment.

'Here,' Ffamran said, offering her a cobalt blue dress, 'I grabbed it from the wardrobe. Considering the Bhujerbans didn't bring any women with them I suspect the dress is a souvenir or belongs to a mistress. Either way it won't be a huge loss. Use the shower and clean up any blood. I'll be waiting outside.'

'What's the plan?'

Ffamran thought for a moment.

'Currently,' he began, 'Non-existent.'

* * *

Doing her very best not to look down at the water, embroidered with curling red, gushing down the drain, Ashe did her best at scrubbing off all the drying flecks of blood. It was everywhere: her earlobes, the tips of her hair, under her nails. When she'd done the best she could, she towelled herself dry and slipped into the straight, strapless dress. It was a bit big for her around the waist so she tore a clean strip off her old dress to use as a sash.

She worked fast so as to keep her mind off what she had seen. She had travelled with her father to areas laid to waste by the eternal war but Riccard Solidor with his white rolling eyes and hissing voice had struck her more personally than anything she had seen.

After wringing out the now torn and blood stained dress, she bundled it up in two layers of towel and used the absorbent material to sponge any remaining stains off the tiles. Finally convinced that no one casually using the bathroom would notice anything other than a distinct lack of towels, she slid open the door.

At the sound, the Archadian boy popped his head in from the front door.

'Done?' He said, 'bring anything that has blood on it and dump it in here.'

He pulled a clinical green laundry trolley into view.

Together, they dug out half the linen already in the trolley and dumped the evidence in. The towels were already turning red so they only had so long before the linen it was sandwiched between turned the same colour. As Ashe pushed the bloody towels in she thought she could feel a number of solid objects hidden down at the bottom of the trolley.

'This way.' Her accidental companion said in a hushed voice, walking quickly down the corridor, pushing the trolley in front of him in a manner that suggested that young nobles usually wandered the hallways of the Bhujerban embassy with large piles of linen in tow.

Ashe followed him with heavy feet, jerking her head at every sound. They hadn't met anyone by the time they got to the lift. After pushing the trolley inside and closing the door, the boy deftly flicked open a small cabinet at knee height underneath the main array of buttons. He chose a red switch close to the floor. The click of the switch was followed by the elevator smoothly accelerating downwards.

'The servants' switchboard.' He explained upon seeing her quizzical expression.

He sat down on the couch built into the side of the elevator and lounged lazily on it. Ashe tried to stand still but in the dread that someone below them might decide to use the lift was over powering. To try and hide her worry she held her clasped hands behind her and rocked on her heels. She watched the arrow moving down the Level numbers on the dial above the door. It eventually reached one but remained stationary while the lift continued to travel downwards.

Eventually, the doors opened to reveal a scanty, grimy concrete room furnished only with a solid looking metal door facing the elevator. They exited the elevator. Retrieving a key from Gods know where, the boy cautiously pushed the door open a fraction. When the world did not come crashing down he pushed it open a little further and stuck his head out. Apparently the area was empty as he flung the door open the rest of the way and motioned for her to come out with their cargo.

Ashe had seen that the door led outside but had not been prepared for the squalor and the stench. They appeared to be in an abandoned lot besides the Embassy building, below the main level of the city. At least five large bins lined the oily walls and in the distance through the seemingly dirty light she could hear the roar of traffic. The drains apparently also ran down here and, a chorus of rushing used water and the warm embrace of the stench of dirty bodies meeting her regal standards. She couldn't believe that such a place could exist right next to the unnecessary wealth of the Embassies' building.

'Eurgh.' She said, putting a hand to her face.

'No need to turn your royal nose up at it.'

'Do your people really live in such conditions?'

'Only those below the poverty line. Anyway, you should be grateful; this is perhaps the only place that we could dispose of that dress of yours.'

He began to rummage around in the bottom of the trolley, having to bend all the way down so his cheek rested against the sweaty, used linen.

'But doesn't all the rubbish from the Embassies' building come down here? Surely they'd know to search the rubbish.' She asked.

'We're not going to dump it in the bins. Ah, here we go.'

He righted himself and held up his hands triumphantly. From the depths of the trolley, through fathoms of cotton, he had extricated:

Two bottles of scotch.

Ashe stared dumbly.

'And _what_ are those for?'

'We're going to have a party right down here and you are going to fall head over heels in love with me and we'll get married and have beautiful babies,'

There was an angry silence.

'It was a joke!' he said putting up his alcohol laden hands in a placating fashion, 'A joke! Don't they have those in your poncy little city?'

She continued to frown at him with all the venom she could muster.

'_Fine._ Just watch this.'

She watched in indignant silence as he trundled the trolley right into the middle of the open space and pulled one of the sheets out. He tore a two large sections of it away and pushed the rest back in. He motioned for her to come with him. They walked about ten metres away. He kicked any debris away towards the walls. There, he unscrewed the tops of both the bottles and asked her to hold them. She watched in growing wonder as he jammed the one piece of material into the neck of the bottle so that one end trailed in the scotch and the other hung several inches out. Before beginning on the other one, he took it from her to have a quick swig.

'Shame to waste it all.' He whined as her gradually softening expression hardened again in disapproval.

Wordlessly, he finished what he was doing with the other bottle. Then he pulled out his gun. With an expert hand, he dismantled part of the gun near the trigger so that the lighter for the gunpowder lay exposed. He readied the gun and held it close to the material on one of the bottles.

'I've fiddled with it so it'll produce a larger spark than with most guns. When I light this, I want you to throw it into the trolley. Okay?'

Ashe nodded.

He pulled the trigger and the lighter ignited the end of the cotton. Wordlessly, Ashe threw the bottle in the direction of the trolley while the boy began to light the other. She threw the second when it was ready. The first landed in the trolley while the second hit the concrete just in front of it. The second bottle exploded as the glass shattered while the first added to the writhing flames moment later as the fuse ran down.

Ashe watched the fire burn, feeling the light graft itself into her eyes. A hand took hers and began to drag her in the direction of the road.

'Come on. We can't be found around here. We have things to do.'

'Like what?' she asked, pulling her hand from his as she began to hurry along beside him.

'First, we're hitting the market place and then the clubs.'

'You do realise that Riccard Solidor is lying dead upstairs, that we stole from the Bhujerban ambassadors and have just left a blazing pile of bed sheets back there?'

He rolled his eyes.

'_Yes_ I am well aware of that _princess_,' he said ironically.

'So why are we going to the market place?'

'To get you some new clothes. Your current attire will be instantly recognised as having been stolen the moment we step back inside that building.'

'Fine. But then why are we going to the clubs?' she asked suspiciously. She had never been to a club in her life and she couldn't see going to one on her first visit to one of the largest cities in Ivalice with a boy who could probably play three women at the same time as a good idea.

He grinned in a way that she didn't like.

'We're going to construct an _alibi._'

* * *


	4. King of Clubs

* * *

**Chapter IV: King of Clubs**

One thing had to be said for the princess. She was different. With an absent mother, no sisters and an estranged extended family Ffamran's only experience with shopping had been with his multiple short-term girlfriends. They had loved trying on every single garment in the shop while not actually liking or planning on buying any of them. Lady Ashe merely looked about the shop Ffamran chose as being appropriate for a night on the town, picked a dress she liked, tried it on, found her size and thrust it at him to buy. She had also picked out a large coat to wear over the top for when they returned to what would be a very different atmosphere to the one they had left only an hour earlier.

_Only an hour? _Ffamran thought as he handed over a large sum of gil to the shop owner. It felt like he'd had dinner in the kitchens with Al-Cid yesterday at the very least.

They visited a local restaurant so that she could use the bathroom to change while he considered which club to patronise. It would have to be one in the more upmarket area of town; not so much to suit her highness's tastes so much as to be seen by people who aren't all drunk out of their minds. It would be important to be seen. The age restriction would be a simple matter.

Ashe emerged in a few minutes to looking flushed.

'I just thought! I need to let my father know where I am.'

'Ah, good thinking. Otherwise I'd be lumped with a kidnapping charge as well as a murder conviction.'

He snagged a kitchen boy from behind the bar and had him run up to the Embassy. The boy was to tell the doorman to tell the servants to inform the King upon returning to his room that his daughter was seeing the city with a friend and would be home by one o'clock. The longer the message relay-chain, the less likely the receiver would be motivated to find the original messenger and interrogate them as to exactly where their quarry was headed.

'So,' he asked, turning back to her, 'ready to go?'

The Lady Ashe hugged her large coat tightly to herself. She nodded.

'Then shall we?' He offered her his arm.

'No thank you.' She declined, walking straight past him.

Ffamran ran after her. 'Mind if I borrow that coat?' he asked as he drew level, 'I'm unaccustomed to the chilly waves you put out.'

'Toughen up.'

'Did you ever think that most guys can't be bothered with playing hard to get?'

'Did _you _ever consider that I'm playing nothing of the sort?'

'In that case you're either asexual or already married.'

'I am most certainly _not_ married and why on Ivalice would I be asexual?'

Ffamran shrugged, nudging her to turn left off the main road.

'Well…'

She stopped.

'You seriously think that I'm asexual because I haven't fallen for you?' She asked incredulously.

'Some would agree with me. Anyway: why did you say that you weren't married?'

'Because I am not?'

'Yes but it was a joke which could hardly apply to someone your age. Only people on the verge of it or people just out of wedlock say that they are_ 'definitely not'_ married_._ Therefore, as I doubt you're already a divorcee, you're on the verge of a marriage and you're not very happy about it. Plus the ring was a bit of a giveaway. Am I right?'

The silence was greater testimony than a nod.

'So who's the lucky-'

'Enough. Just leave it.' She said in a dead voice, walking on quickly; head down.

They didn't talk at all on the way to the club and, after being admitted by the burly bouncer (who was distracted from asking for ID by the weight of five pine chops.) Ashe only nodded to Ffamran when he suggested they go to the bar and get acquainted with the barman.

As they pushed their way through the throng, Ffamran almost laughed with relief to see a familiar face behind the bar.

'Tarn Gregoroth!' he called out.

The young man turned to see him waving. He was drying a shot glass with studied concentration as his face cracked into a faint grin.

'Well well well, fancy seeing you here.' He croaked in a husky voice made more so by the long hours pushing pints.

'This' Ffamran explained to Ashe who was still looking disgruntled, 'Is Tarn Gregoroth, nephew of Chairman Gregoroth of the Archadian senate. An old school mate of mine.'

Then a change came over Ashe that made Ffamran do a double take. She bowed her head genteelly and smiled charmingly. 'It's a pleasure to meet you' she said, voice light, 'I am Amalia. I'm visiting from Dalmasca.'

'Ah, all the way from Dalmasca? Quite a commute. So what can I get you?'

Ffamran cut in before Ashe could open her mouth.

'One Ozmone Hare for Amalia and a pint of Gizana Lager will do for now.'

Tarn nodded, grinning as Ffamran slapped a fifty gil note on the bar.

He nudged Ashe and motioned towards a pair of stools by the bar. They sat down as their drinks arrived.

'How is it?' he asked as Ashe winced after taking a sip of her cocktail.

'How much alcohol is in here?' she gasped, coughing slightly.

'Well Tarn has always been a bit heavy handed and around you I wouldn't be surprised if he were a bit distracted.'

Ashe frowned.

'That is not funny.'

'Well you're blushing.'

'For your information, it is merely hot.'

'Then take the coat off.'

She was still wearing the large overcoat that she – correction – he had bought.

He gestured towards it,

'May I point out that you are going to owe me a sizeable sum of gil after this night?'

'We never agreed on that!'

'If I leant money out to every damsel in distress I'd be working the streets for Pine Chops.'

Of course, he was already doing that on a regular basis. Gil was a testimony to wealth as chops were testimony to connections. Why buy a ticket if you knew the man with the keys?

'None of the things you have suggested so far were actually necessary. I could have alerted the Captain as I was and we would never have had to sneak about like thieves.'

'Yes well you weren't exactly forthcoming with suggestions now were you?'

'But you failed to consider any of your actions.'

'As did you.'

'Me?!'

'Who crashed into that room and rolled about in a dying man's blood? You couldn't have more certainly doomed yourself for death if you'd hung yourself.'

'Would you not have aided him?'

'Probably not. He was going to die no matter what you did, might as well not go down with him.'

'You're despicable. You're devious, arrogant, chauvinistic and, as I've just discovered, heartless.'

'You're callous.'

'You're mercenary.'

'You're a snob.'

'You're irresponsible

'Let's dance.'

'You're- what?'

Ashe blinked as she mentally reversed. Ffamran grinned,

'You heard me. Let's go.'

Ashe could only gape.

'You did hear all the things I just called you, didn't you?'

'How could I have missed it?'

'And because of this you assumed that I would accept your offer?'

Ffamran stood and offered her his arm.

'It's not a matter of wanting,' he said, all gentility, 'But if we're going to accustom a people with our faces we best get in amongst the throng.'

Ashe looked over to the pulsating mob of dancing bodies. Silently, she stood and, ignoring Ffamran's hand, made a beeline for the centre of the dance floor.

In two long strides, he had caught up to her and taken her hand.

'I was lying when I said 'get amongst the throng.' What I should have said was 'get above it.''

And with that, he slipped his arm about her waist and hoisted her up onto the elevated area by the live band.

'What are you-' she cried out, teetering as she tried to gain her balance after he released her.

'All royals learn to dance don't they? Do Dalmasca proud!' Ffamran declared gaily, taking her hands in his.

Although he would never admit it to his male friends, Ffamran enjoyed the freedom that was to be had on the dance floor in such faceless clubs as these. A deep base pulsated somewhere in the base of his stomach, making him feel both sick and a strangely hungry for something other than food. The floor shook with tens of feet clapping down on the polished floorboards and the confident twangs of the bass reverberated about his ears and into his marrow. The vocalists' voices shaded the music with dark cross-hatching; something about it exuded darkness - like the coarse gravel of the streets or inky water gushing from a tap in a vermin dwelling.

Ffamran felt alive.

And he had to admit, even from the perspective of a young man trained in all that is considered decorous for a young aristocrat; the Lady Ashelia was a good dancer. She made do with the little room they had and recovered well from any improvisations he threw in while keeping in time with music that was probably a lot faster and seedier than she was used to. She was so good that when she trod painfully on his foot after a particularly daring improvisation on his part in which he actually picked her up, he knew that it had been deliberate and malicious.

After a while it seemed as though Ashe had finally spent all her frustration and was finally beginning to enjoy herself.

_I'll see a smile before the night is out._ Ffamran thought, grinning to himself.

But his hopes were dashed as a scaly hand seized his and pulled him down. He fell painfully onto his tailbone, knocking a number of other civilians. Ashe fell straight after, winding him and knocking her forehead into his chin. Other dancers gathered around to stare stupidly through their beer goggles of various thickness.

'Alright, _who _did that_?_' Ffamran gasped, trying to reach under Ashe to clutch his diaphragm.

He looked up.

He groaned but not from the ache in his jaw.

'Not _you._'

The bangaa that had pulled them off the stage sneered in that way that only bangaas could; with twice the length and twice the number of teeth.

'Trust me, I take no pleasure in chasing after your weedy arse. The King of Dalmasca sent me to find his darling daughter.'

He reached forward and roughly pulled Ashe up by the arm.

'Ah!'

Ffamran gingerly got to his feet.

'You could afford to learn some manners, Ba'Gamnan. That's no way to treat a lady.'

He had only a split-second to catch the bangaa tail that whipped around to meet him as he tried to get to Ashe from around Ba'Gamnan. He caught it with his whole upper body but was pushed back in the impact.

'Shut it.' The bangaa growled. 'Follow me.'

He nudged Ashe into heading towards the door. Ffamran followed, still wheezing slightly.

Outside was a hover car. Ba'Gamnan followed them into the back. He clicked to the driver as the door hissed shut.

The bangaa's presence maintained a sullen silence all the way back to the Collective Embassy building. Ashe was hugging her coat close to her beside Ffamran, not looking at their collector who sat facing them.

Ba'Gamnan was one of the many minions of House Solidor. Crude, blood-thirsty and greedy, he and his lackeys could keep anyone harbouring a secret moored. Of course that was how Ffamran made his chops; he gave voices to the silenced and gave the information they hoarded to those who could use it. That in turn meant Ba'Gamnan had to work overtime without pay while Ffamran profited off the new wave of plebeians oppressed by the Bangaa's squad.

It was probably why Ba'Gamnan hated him so much.

But then again, there was also the time Ba'Gamnan had been sent to retrieve Ffamran and his friends and he had rewired the circuits in the bangaa's hoverbike, making it explode once it reached a certain velocity.

That was probably it.

'Move it, hume.'

They had arrived.

Ba'Gamnan lead them through large glass doors into the atrium of the Collective Embassy building. Ffamran saw Ashe look up. She was clearly thinking of the corpse bleeding into the carpet three floors up; he was as well. A porter was there to lead Lady Ashe up to her father who was waiting in the Bhujerban Embassy. She glanced back at Ffamran with a look of panic. He made to follow her but Ba'Gamnan blocked his way.

'Not this time, sunshine.' He said cruelly. '_You _can follow me.'

Grudgingly, Ffamran nodded. The Bangaa pushed him in the direction of the corridor while Ashe was directed to a waiting elevator. Over his shoulder, he caught her eye and winked. She looked at him confusedly before disappearing from view as he rounded a corner.

'So where are we going?' he asked Ba'Gamnan nonchalantly, stretching his arms up behind his head.

'Your brothers sent for you.'

Ah yes, his delightful siblings.

'Don't even think about giving me the slip.'

'Would I ever do that to you?' he asked in a hurt voice. 'But I'll tell you something I do need to do; make a dash to the wee free men's room.'

Ba'Gamnan growled but nonetheless paused at the next bathroom they passed.

'Don't try anything funny.' He said, taking up his vigil by the door.

'Does this look like a laughing face?' Ffamran called back as he strode into the toilets.

Ffamran found that the best way to judge the wealth of a nation or household was to gauge the quality of their toiletry facilities. With pearly marble tiles, large jars of potpourri and urinals that played chamber music when you flushed, the Embassy rated pretty highly.

He selected one of the middle cubicles, pausing only to check his hair in the basin mirror. Side-burns like his took _maintenance._

He pulled the toilet lid down and sat on it as he removed his boots. He felt loath to part with them even for a moment. It had cost him twenty chops just to find a source of Saurian hide.

He sat them down by the base of the toilet bowl so that from the outside it would look like someone with expensive and potentially black market sourced boots was unloading their cargo. Bare-footed, he stepped out of the cubicle. Before pulling the door shut, he reached around and twisted the lock so that 'engaged' showed on the outside. This meant that when he did pull the door shut, it wasn't actually locked but looked like it was.

Checking that his boots were placed correctly he hurried into a toilet several cubicles down and pulled the door half shut. He waited; crouched on the toilet lid.

Several minutes passed before he heard the door open and heard the scraping footsteps of Ba'Gamnan. Ffamran had no qualms about what he was going to do. He had Ba'Gamnan's number. It was 43. That is, 43 cases of assault causing bodily harm and, more importantly, theft from the royal treasuries that the bangaa didn't want the empire to know about. The worst he would be able to do with Ffamran was glare…and kick him in the nadgers when no one was looking.

'Ffamran!' The bangaa growled. 'Hurry up in there.'

There was a knock on the cubicle where Ffamran had left his boots. This was followed by a roar of fury as the door swung guiltily inwards to reveal a distinct lack of Bunansa. Desperation evident in fast strides, Ba'Gamnan systematically went along the row of cubicles, sticking his snout in each door to check. That was the thing about Bangaa's. For their size, they had relatively large mouths which got them into more trouble than they could swallow.

Finally he reached the cubicle next to Ffamran's. Ffamran watched the pair of feet approach and prepared to spring. He prayed briefly to whatever God that would listen that he hurt this bugger really badly. As soon as that green snout appeared around the door, he pushed himself as hard as he could from where he was crouched.

The timing had been just right, the Bangaa's snout got caught in the door and there was a crack which told Ffamran that his enemy would be sporting a more erratic grimace next time they met. There were scrabbling sounds as the bangaa clawed at the door, trying to pry himself free and a deafening 'whap' as his tail crashed repeatedly on the floor behind.

Ffamran gave the door one extra push, taking the slightly satisfaction from the cracks and groan it elicited. At last, he let the bangaa fall to the ground clutching his jaw. The tiles were flecked with blood as Ba'Gamnan writhed.

Deciding to save gloating for another day, Ffamran collected his boots and sprinted, barefoot, out the door, down the corridor and in the direction of the closest set of lifts.

* * *


	5. Keeping it in the family

**A/N **- MAJOR DISASTER! Well...significantly irritating more than major. But there is one valid reason for my recent absence from . My computer crashed. It wasn't the virus that killed it apparently. It. Just. Crashed. So...the sixty plus pages of my FF fic vanished. Evanesced like a cloud of midges. Luckily perhaps, I had a few chapters of it backed-up. This is the first of them. I'm on exams at the moment and am going to need something to salvage my sanity so I suppose working on this fic is as good a pursuit as any. In fact, I just finished a Creative Writing course at university so maybe it'll be all the better for a re-write...or not. ANYWAY. Enjoy this chapter. I enjoyed re-reading it after such a long time away writing 'artsy' stuff (eugh.)

* * *

Never had Ashe ever felt such dread as that moment walking down the corridor towards the room that she knew contained the body of Riccard Solidor. Never had she felt more hunted than when she was swooped upon by five assorted dignitaries, all pressing her with questions about what she had been doing away from the party. And never had she felt more ashamed than when her father found her and had drawn her into a desperate embrace.

Everyone of importance was there. The House of Magrace, Marquis Ondore, the Nabradian royal family, the Solidors and that man that she had seen talking to himself at the party. He surveyed the scene with a plain expression of boredom.

Captain Basch stood to the side, looking apologetic. He whispered to her that he was sorry for letting her leave the party and allowing her to get caught up in this mess. She told him that it wasn't it fault and turned to face Gramis Gana Solidor. The old face looked as though a further ten years had been added and Ashe couldn't bear to watch as his eyes repeatedly slid to the body of his son.

Riccard Darkner Solidor's body was just the same as it had been several hours ago except now the dried blood was a deep maroon and the small specks of unspotted flesh to be seen were a ghostly white. Mercifully, someone had closed his eyes.

An authoritative voice called her name.

'Princess Ashelia.'

It was Vayne Solidor, tall, pale and composed. Nonetheless, the way he squeezed his hands into tight fists that betrayed that he was filled from crown to toe with blood lust for his brother's murderer.

'You will answer my questions.'

Ashe nodded, trying to swallow.

'Why did you leave the Meeting of Dignitaries?'

Ashe bit her lip, feeling a blush already beginning to build up behind her ears.

'Because…I was troubled and sought solitude.'

'What was troubling you?'

She had hoped he wouldn't ask that.

'I…had quarrelled with someone.'

There was a barely concealed snort of laughter from a tall man from the House of Magrace.

Vayne continued as though the interruption hadn't occurred.

'And what did you do when you left the Great Hall?'

'I walked.'

'Where?'

'Around lift area.'

'Which floor?'

'This one.'

'Why?'

Vayne was asking questions with torturous speed. Accusatory and rapid, his voice compelled her to answer desperately and truthfully in order to escape from his interrogation.

But 'why?' was a bit of a stickler.

All this time, Vayne's eyes hadn't moved from Ashe's face. It felt as though they were boring through her skull. She sighed.

But her answer was cut short by the sound of the Captain of the Nabradian guard yelping as the door to the room swung forward onto his foot. In walked that Archadian boy, looking smug. The Old man in the glasses growled.

'Get away from here boy.'

But he just ignored him and began to walk directly towards her. Someone grabbed his arm and exclaimed 'Have you no respect?'

It was only then that the rest of the room realised that he was barefoot; his precious boots under his arm.

'Sir,' he said, in complete seriousness, 'I doubt the Late Riccard Solidor gives a damn.'

There were grimaces and mumbles about rampant youth.

Finally the young man stood beside Ashe, his face impassive.

Vayne recovered admirably.

'What are you doing here boy?'

'Just helping out a friend in need.'

'Indeed, and how do you intend to do that?'

The boy shrugged.

'It's simple really, before you start getting any weird ideas about where the princess was in the time between departing your high and mighty do and getting dragged up to your high and mighty who-dunnit.'

The third Solidor eyed the man suspiciously.

'Go on.'

'Well there I was having my fill of real food down in the kitchens. Master Magrace can confirm that.'

There was a nod from the man that had laughed earlier.

'And so, with a heart filled with hume generosity given by a stomach well filled, I found a worried looking woman wandering the corridors. Clearly from out of town. So I did what any host would do: show her about. You ought to know such as one of you clearly sent the delightful Ba'Gamnan to fetch us. We have countless witnesses nonetheless, Tarn Gregoroth included.' He nodded to the Chair of the Archadian senate who bowed his head in recognition.

'Therefore,' the Archadian continued, 'As any chivalrous young man must do, I would like to invite the Princess Ashe to come away from here. She clearly had no involvement in the incident and who knows what this _inquisition_ is doing for her female delicacy.'

He finished; Ashe had half expected him to bow have roses fall at his feet. But the only applause he received was the calculating gaze of Vayne Solidor and his roses were the dark red blotches in the carpet.

At length Vayne sighed.

'Very well. Princess Ashe you may go.'

Almost crying with relief, Ashe followed her Archadian companion from the room, glancing back only once to the body.

They walked abreast down the corridor. At length Ashe asked:

'How did you get away from that bangaa?'

'Did your mother ever tell you not to play with doors?'

'Of course.'

'His obviously hadn't.'

Ashe rolled her eyes.

'I don't even want to know what that is supposed to mean. And why did you take your boots off?'

'Do you know how arduous it is to clean Saurian leather?'

Ashe groaned.

'You are probably the single most disrespectful, arrogant, vain, shallow man that I have ever met.'

'Normally I would be offended but I think I'm numb to your jabs now.'

Sighing, Ashe stopped. He turned to face her with a questioning look.

'Incidentally,' she said, 'thank you for all your help tonight. Considering our first meeting was hardly ideal, it was truly generous of you.'

He looked taken aback.

'You changed tack quickly. I had just gotten used to the insults, I think I'm going to miss them.'

Ashe smirked. He grinned in response.

'Finally,' he said, 'It was about time I got to see one of those.'

Still smiling, Ashe continued past him down the corridor. He hurried after her.

'So, because I helped you,' he said, 'Does that mean we can forget about what happened at the party?'

'Stop kidding yourself.' She answered drolly. But then she remembered.

'Although' she said slowly, 'You would maybe find yourself a little higher in my esteem if you were to tell me something.'

'Indeed? And what would that be?'

'Your name?'

Even without looking, she could tell that he was grinning from ear to ear.

'Ffamran.' He said, 'Ffamran Mid Bunansa.'

**

* * *

**

Under the circumstances, Ffamran felt that it would be best to stop grinning like a mindless idiot. He grimaced as he sat up. It had slipped his father's twisted mind that his son would need a ride home back home so instead Ffamran had kipped on one of the couches in the Dalmascan embassy.

He gingerly touched his nose. It ached. When he thought about it, Ffamran realised that perhaps following a pure, innocent princess who wanted to keep things that way was asking for a bop on the nose. He had tailed her mindlessly and had almost walked straight into her bedroom. Luckily, she had saved him from scandal by slamming the door on his face, giving him a blood nose. That Captain Basch had come along, seen Ffamran scowling at the princess' bedroom door with a heavily bleeding nose and had taken it upon himself to roughly remove the young Archadian from the scene…and from the building for that matter.

But Ffamran had made his way back in through the servant's entrance, sniggering as he found the charred remains of the laundry trolley.

'Oi Ffamran.'

He looked up as his name was called an groaned inwardly as he saw his eldest brother, Barrenthus.

'I've been looking for you all night.'

'Don't you mean all of the last five minutes?'

'Shut it. Anyway, get up and get clean. We're going to court today.'

'What for?'

'Didn't you hear? Borghen's been accused with the murder of Riccard Solidor.'

Ffamran blinked in surprise.

'Well they certainly didn't wait around did they? I'll meet you at the court house.'

Barrenthus sniffed dismissively before turning to leave. He paused. Ffamran looked over to see Ashe running towards them, looking flustered.

'Oh ho what have we here?' Barrenthus asked slyly.

'Ffamran!' she called as she neared the pair.

'Ffamran, did you hear? Berghon's been accused with Riccard's murder?'

Barrenthus snorted. 'Old news by now, love.'

Ffamran threw his brother an irritated look.

'What of it?' he asked.

Ashe clasped her hands together desperately.

'I just can't believe it! Riccard Solidor died less than twenty-four hours ago. How could we be at a murder trial already?'

Ffamran sighed. This always happened when small towners got into the large cities. The first thing to hit them was the pace and if they were hanging around the wrong areas, a bullet might follow it.

'Believe me.' He said, very aware that his brother was still there, 'In Archadia everything is fast. News gets around fast, news dies fast. If they don't want half of the city on the courthouse steps, they'll have to find the murderer before it gets out that there has been a murder.'

'But it can't have been Berghon! I was with-'

'It doesn't matter.' Ffamran said sharply. Ashe looked taken aback but fell silent.

Barrenthus had gotten tired.

'That's right, love' he said, putting a patronising hand on her shoulder. Ashe shrunk from his touch. 'Listen to our little Ffamran, he knows how things work. By the sounds of it, Gramis will have lost two sons before the week is out.'

Ashe watched the older man wander away and turned around to see Ffamran watching her face. It contorted in anger.

'There was no need to get irritable with me.' She said hotly, approaching the couch where he lay, hands on her hips.

Ffamran sighed, lay back and stretched with a groan.

'You're right, but I didn't want you saying anything unnecessary in front of dear Barrenthus.'

'Who was he?'

'My eldest brother.'

'Eldest?'

'I have another, Zachariah. Much like the older. Charming wasn't he?'

'I-'

'You don't have to answer that. Instead, you can tell me what you were going to say about it being impossible for Berghon to murder Riccard Solidor.'

He sat upright. She immediately sat down in the space where his legs had been. Ffamran's serious expression wavered only for a moment as he noticed exactly how close she was. He pushed himself further onto his side of the couch so that they were separated by the division in the cushions. Ashe didn't seem to have noticed.

'Well,' she began, 'basically, I left the party at the permission of Berghon Solidor. He wouldn't have had the time to get out of the party and…kill Riccard Solidor by the time I got there. And the man that I saw running from the scene looked nothing like him.'

'Did the possibility of an accomplice cross your mind?'

Ashe faltered slightly.

'Yes, but…I just can't believe that he would have reason to kill his older brother.'

'Reasons? Would you like me to list the reasons why Berghon would kill his brother? One, Gramis is and old man and Berghon was only one stab away from being heir to the Archadian Empire. Two, the rising resistance to Archadian expansion reportedly based in Bhujerba, under the nose of Marquis Ondore. They would gain the most from the death of the House of Solidor. And where was Riccard murdered?'

Ashe put a hand to her mouth.

'The Bhujerban embassy.' She breathed.

'And would you like to guess who is Judge Magister for relations with Bhujerba?'

'It couldn't be Berghon.'

'I'm afraid that it is.'

'But surely the resistance would choose a more opportune time to strike the House of Solidor? A strike against Archadia on the eve of an international conference would hardly put them in mind for peace.'

'Do you know the significance of Embassies?'

Ashe's brow furrowed.

'They provide a centre for ambassadors.'

'Yes, but more importantly, that area is considered the territory of that Nation. That is, to all extents and purposes, Riccard Solidor was murdered in Bhujerba, therefore, the Bhujerbans are in charge of the investigations. It would be a clever way to manipulate the investigation process in order to protect their own interests.'

'So you think that it was Berghon as well?'

Ffamran scrutinized Ashe. It was clear that she hadn't slept well last night. There were bags under her young eyes and her eyes were pink with tiredness.

'No.' he said slowly. Her eyes softened with relief. 'No I don't. But my opinion isn't important. My opinion won't save Berghon Solidor.'

Ashe's gaze slipped down to her hands, looking crestfallen. Ffamran felt a tug from somewhere he couldn't quite pinpoint to comfort her.

'Cheer up, princess.' He said, 'You never know what could happen. We might as well go to the trial and see this thing through hmm?'

Ashe didn't move.

'Incidentally, may I ask you a favour?'

She looked over to him with sad eyes.

'May I use your shower?'

* * *


End file.
